Happy Is On Hiatus, page 23
She nodded, feeling emotion welling up inside her as well. “Thank you for doing that. Taryn needed to hear it.” There were witnesses to her burning his clothes, but she wasn’t admitting anything about those tires.
“I’m not her favorite person right now, and you know that’s hard for me to swallow. I’m used to being her everything, and Necole’s too.” He waited a beat. “And yours too.”
Oh boy, she was gonna cry, and she so didn’t want to cry in front of this man. She didn’t want to give him one more tear, not ever again.
“I’ve always wanted you to have the best, and I’m sorry that couldn’t be me.” He stepped closer then, and Rita was still stuck in her emotional trance, so she didn’t move in time.
His arms went around her, and before she could blink, the first tear slipped down her cheek. The next thing she knew, her arms were going around his waist. They stood there for she didn’t know how long simply holding on to each other, like they were both afraid to let go but knew that it was inevitable.
Chapter 23
THE HIRED HELP.
Sharae almost sliced her finger off thinking about the fight she and Desmond had last night. She’d gone to his house again, the fourth time since that first evening the week before last. They’d had a great dinner ordered from her favorite steakhouse where they always prepared her very well-done filet just right, with tender baked potatoes and creamed spinach, which had been Desmond’s selection that she’d refused to eat. She’d hated spinach since she was little, and having a sexy guy hold it in some creamed concoction on a fork, inches away from her face, wasn’t changing her stance on that.
Not long after the delicious—sans spinach—dinner, they’d had phenomenal sex. That seemed to be their ritual. She’d go to his place after work, he’d think of something for dinner, they’d eat, have sex, and she’d get up and go home. Until last night.
“Why don’t you stay?”
“Because this is your place, not mine,” she’d tossed back at him just before pulling her shirt over her head.
He’d been lying on his bed, the beige sheets twisted so that they only covered his groin. His dark, muscled legs and bare, toned chest were still on full and perfect display. But she really did need to leave. It was late, and she’d stayed much longer than she’d planned. She’d told Rita she’d be at her house by eight, which was barely a few hours away.
“I think we’ve already proven we can both fit in this bed,” he told her.
“You’re correct, we have fit in this bed a good number of times.” And when she stood to push her legs into her pants, she let herself recall all the times and all the things they’d done in this bed. Her skin tingled with arousal, and she really considered climbing back into that bed. But she couldn’t spend the night with him. That wasn’t what she did.
“But you won’t sleep here,” he said, folding his arms behind his head.
“No.” She shook her head just in case he hadn’t heard her response.
He’d heard it just fine; he just wanted to have this conversation. Again. It was the same as the conversation about them going out on a date. Sharae didn’t want to talk about either. She grabbed her suit jacket off the chair and hunted down her shoes before slipping them on.
“I have to be at my cousin’s by eight to help her get set up for our family cookout.”
“Oh, your family’s having a Fourth of July cookout.”
She’d frowned. “It’s just a cookout. We don’t do any of those red, white, and blue decorations. It’s another day for us to gather and celebrate each other with good food, music, and just old-fashioned family fun.”
“My family’s all in Atlanta,” he’d said.
Finding her bag was a little more difficult, and she’d walked back and forth across his room until she saw it on the edge of his dresser.
“So, you’re just not gonna invite me. Even after I dropped that big hint.”
She turned to face him then and thought about what he’d just said. “You want to come to my family cookout?”
He shrugged. “I like good food and family fun. What y’all playin’, Tunk or Spades?”
She’d tilted her head and recalled the last time she’d played cards. “We have card nights, but sometimes somebody’ll start up a game at the cookouts too. The younger kids have games and . . .” And what he was asking her was much bigger than eating grilled food or playing cards. “You’re trying to make this a dating thing, aren’t you?”
“You’re trying to keep this a secret thing, aren’t you?” he asked, and she frowned.
“You’re not funny.”
He sat up then, swinging his legs over the side of the bed before standing. The sheet fell to the floor, and her gaze fell to his semi-erect dick. She swallowed, the desire switch he seemed to have taken possession of clicking to on and igniting the flames inside her. But she didn’t move. She had to think.
“I told you I don’t date.”
He came closer, touching his hands to her arms. She tried to focus, to keep her gaze on his eyes, not his . . . other parts. When he’d eased her to the side and then went to open the top drawer of his dresser instead of pulling her to him for a kiss or wrapping her hands around his length like he’d done just a little while ago, she’d realized just how much trouble she was in.
“Are you angry about that? Because I made myself perfectly clear,” she said.
“You did,” he’d replied and pulled out a pair of shorts that he then stepped into. “I guess I’ve just been trying to figure out why you’re so stuck on that rule.”
She put some space between them, going over to look out one of the narrow windows in his bedroom. The street he lived on was one-way, and at this time of morning it was pretty quiet. Her car was parked right behind his like they were really a couple. The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she turned back to face him. “It’s just my thing. I’m focused on other stuff.”
He leaned back against the wall, hands behind him. “Considering taking the lieutenant’s exam? Or maybe coming off the force and doing some private security work?”
“Not really, but work is a priority.”
“And you can’t possibly date and work at the same time. I mean, ’cause you’ve been coming here kind of regular for the past two weeks. I thought we were getting into a groove.”
“A physical one,” she clarified. “If that’s a problem, say so now, and it’ll stop.”
“That’s what you want me to say. Then you’ll be justified in walking out because I’m being unreasonable. Right?”
Wrong. She wanted to scream but felt like that would be playing right into his hands. “I know what I want, and this . . . It was never meant to even get this far. I didn’t even like you at first, bringing me that unwanted news.”
Her chest clenched at the thought of the ashes she’d tucked back into her closet and the upcoming anniversary of her mother’s death.
He walked to her then, but before he could get too close, she stepped back, her fists clenching at her sides. She hadn’t realized her breathing had quickened, and she must have had a strange look on her face, because Desmond stopped a breath away from her and folded his arms over his chest.
“Not all men hit,” he said softly. “They all don’t mentally berate women or tear them down in whatever way they can.”
She willed herself to calm down. “I didn’t say they did.”
“You didn’t have to,” he told her and then reached down to ease her fingers apart. “Everything you do is a message that screams loud and clear. You’re protecting yourself, and now that I know what happened between your parents, I can see why.”
“How do you know?”
He arched a brow. “You think I didn’t check up on the charges against Sanford that got him life in prison? I read his entire criminal file. I know what he did to your mother, and I’m really sorry you had to go through that.”
She looked away from him. “I don’t need your sympathy.”
He laced his fingers through hers. “I know. But I’m offering it anyway. Just like I’m offering to take things slow with you.”
“I don’t want . . .”
Putting one finger to her lips, he silenced her. “I’m not telling you what you should want. I’m telling you what I’m going to do.”
Turning her face slowly away from his finger, she cleared her throat. “If you think you can wear me down or change my mind, it’s not going to work.”
He nodded. “That’s cool. But what I’m really thinking about now is the food your family’s probably gonna have tomorrow and how hungry I’m gonna be just sitting in this house alone.”
Her lips pursed as she stared at him, watching as a smile slowly crept across his face. “You think you’re so slick. I’m not inviting you to my cousin’s house as a date, Desmond. We’re not even going there.”
He released her other hand and turned so that he was beside her. Draping an arm over her shoulder, he walked her to the door. “I’m not coming as your man. I’m coming as a guy whose stomach is surely going to be growling all day until . . . What time should I be there?”
They’d made it out to the hallway when she glanced over at him. “Four, and erase that triumphant smirk from your face. I’m not looking for a man.”
He turned her then, cupping her face in his hands and easing her closer to his. “Sometimes good things find you, Sharae. Shhhh,” he continued when she would’ve replied. “Just relax and see what happens. You might like it.”
“I won’t,” she’d whispered seconds before he kissed her.
“Girl, give me that knife. We don’t want no blood or fingers in our food!”
Rita’s words and the way she plucked the knife out of Sharae’s hand snapped Sharae out of her reverie, and she cursed. Looking down at the cucumbers she was supposed to be cutting, she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t done serious bodily harm.
“You over there deep in thought,” Jemel said. “What’s going on? And don’t even think about saying nothin’.”
Sharae turned around and leaned against the counter. The three of them were in Rita’s kitchen, and it was barely ten o’clock on Sunday morning. Jemel was at the island cutting strawberries and watermelon—her favorite fruit—for the fruit salad. She wore sage-colored sweatpants that hung low on her waist and a white T-shirt she had tied in a knot at her back. Rita hadn’t only taken the knife from Sharae, but she’d also taken the rest of the onion, vinegar, and dill that needed to go in the cucumber salad too. She had on old, faded jean shorts and a gray tank top. They were all going to change into better outfits this afternoon, but while they cooked, it didn’t matter how they looked. Which was why Sharae had pulled on yoga pants and a wrinkled Morgan State T-shirt when she’d rolled out of bed after barely getting any sleep this morning.
“Nope, this I definitely need to talk about because it’s new territory for me,” she said. Thoughts of Desmond rolled nonstop through her mind as she’d lain in her bed after arriving at her apartment in the early-morning hours. And considering how she’d just been so distracted by the same thoughts, she figured it was best to simply get it all out.
“Uh-oh.” Rita came over to reach behind Sharae and grab the glass bowl she’d been putting her cucumber slices in. “This sounds serious.”
Sharae nodded. “It is. I slept with Desmond again.”
Jemel looked up and popped a slice of strawberry into her mouth. “Okay, twice. That must mean he’s good. Give us all the deets.”
“Are we really going to have detailed sex talks?” Rita asked and crinkled her nose as if the mere thought offended her. “I mean, we’re not teenagers anymore.”
“If I’m not mistaken, you didn’t have much input on those conversations when we were teenagers,” Sharae said and raised a hand to stop Rita’s reply. “But anyway, yes, he’s good. I mean, like real, real good.”
“Oooooh yes! Sharae’s finally gettin’ that good-good sex. Girl, I’m happy for you,” Jemel added.
“It can’t be too good if it leaves you lookin’ like you look.” Rita got her dig in anyway, and Sharae let her have it without qualms. There were just too many other things on her mind.
She rubbed a hand to the back of her neck. “I’ve been to his house five times. Each time we had lots of sex. We ate and talked too, but there’s been lots of sex.”
“Wait, you just tellin’ us this. I thought you’d only been there once and then last night. That’s a lot of visits and a lot of sex for you. But okay, tell us more.” Jemel looked pleased as punch to be helping with an actual dish—albeit fruit salad so it didn’t require any cooking skills—and to be listening to Sharae talk about sex, which she didn’t do often because normally there wasn’t much to talk about.
To be fair, most of her silence on the subject of sex over these past years had just been because Jemel and Rita were having so much of it with their live-in dicks, and she was mostly partaking in the self-induced pleasure options.
“Last night I was there until five . . . in the morning. He wanted me to stay, but I don’t do that.” Hearing herself now, she knew what was coming, but the words hit the air.
“I’ve got news for you, baby girl. If you left at five this morning, you did stay,” Rita replied with a bland look on her face.
Dropping her head back, Sharae moaned. “I know.”
“Where’s the problem?” Jemel asked. “’Cause I know you’ve been manufacturing one. That’s what you do when it comes to men.”
Sharae’s head snapped up. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do.” Rita nodded. She’d resumed slicing the cucumbers.
It didn’t really bother Sharae that she’d taken over that task because she hated slicing onions, which were up next, and Rita always fussed that she wasn’t slicing them thin enough.
“I need to do something with my hands,” she said, because she was harboring a lot of nervous energy. This thing with Desmond was really freaking her out. “I’ll make the hamburgers.”
She went to the refrigerator and grabbed the plastic-covered bowl with ground beef.
“Get the ground turkey too. We’re having a few healthier options today,” Rita told her.
After a brief hunt for the second bowl of lighter-tinted meat, Sharae grabbed that one too and closed the refrigerator.
“Talk while you work,” Jemel said, her cheeks full of whatever fruit she’d just stuck into her mouth this time.
“Like you’re eating while you work,” Rita said.
Jemel shrugged and snapped a grape from its stalk. “You’ve got enough fruit here to feed a cruise ship full of people, so I can have my share now.”
Sharae had gathered the other ingredients to mix into the meat and stood at the other end of the island ready to get started. “He wants to date me.”
“Instead of just fuck you?” Jemel asked.
“Language!” Rita huffed.
Jemel rolled her eyes. “A’ight, Grandma.”
Rita smirked, and Sharae enjoyed seeing that the light had returned to her eyes. They’d talked on Thursday about the meeting with Nate and made more plans for the event and her new business that they were finally going to announce tonight. She was really happy to see Rita coming through this divorce situation. “Look, that’s all I’m used to,” she continued. “I’m not the boyfriend-husband-live-in-relationship type like the two of you are. I just like to do my thing on my own.”
“You’ve been doing that a long time. You ain’t gettin’ no younger,” Jemel said.
“Well, we’re not all lined up for that marriage-and-family train like you and Marc seem to be,” Sharae said and then wished she hadn’t because she knew Aunt Ceil pressured Jemel enough about when she was getting married and giving her grandchildren.
“Girl, he hasn’t said anything about marriage, and neither have I. We’re just ridin’ this good wave while we can.” There was a moment of bleakness in Jemel’s tone, but when Sharae looked to Rita to see if she’d noticed it too, Rita was slicing those onions in perfect paper-thin slices. Sharae frowned, not only at the smell, but how effortless the task seemed for Rita.
“I mean, I’m content having my own space. Not depending on no man to make me happy,” she told them.
“That part right there,” Rita said, lifting her head up. “What I’ve had to come to terms with in these past weeks is that only I can make me happy. I can’t afford to trust that to anybody else.”
“Humph.” Jemel glanced at Rita, then back to Sharae. “From the way you talked about that massage from Vance, I kind of thought his hands and all that oil made you pretty damn happy.”
“You so nasty,” Rita said with a shake of her head. “But I do have another appointment with him next week.”
Sharae grinned at the way Rita’s grown ass continued to blush.
“Listen,” Rita said to Sharae. “You have to get out of your head. Every time you meet a guy, you think about your father.”
Sharae froze. Jemel smacked Rita’s arm and gave her a warning gaze.
“What?” Rita asked. “It’s the truth, and she knows it. She also knows we don’t sugarcoat stuff when it’s just us.”
Sharae and Jemel shared a glance, but Rita didn’t notice it.
“You remember those first days after you came to live with us?” Rita continued.
Nodding, Sharae cracked two eggs and mixed them in a small bowl. She poured that mixture over the ground beef and then added the hamburger seasoning Rita had already mixed and put into a small plastic bag.
“You wouldn’t even cry. Mama kept coming into my bedroom to check on you, but all you did was sit in the window seat and stare outside. That’s when I believe you locked away all your feelings. Not for or from us or any of the rest of the family, but for any type of relationship with someone who wasn’t related by blood.”
Both her hands were immersed in the chilly meat now, and Sharae did her best to focus on that instead of the pricks of pain Rita’s words were causing. The truth hurts. Aunt Rose said that all the time, and Sharae had said it a time or two in her interrogations. Most of her suspects were long past the point of having feelings about anything they did or the repercussions, but there’d been a few who’d completely broken down after confessing to their crimes. So she knew the saying had merit, and she hated how much it seemed to fit what she was experiencing right now.
